When the World Sparkles Enough That It Blinds, the Kingdom Fades to Gray.

One of the hardest, and sometimes most heart-breaking, experiences I've had in ministry, whether as a counselor or church leader has been when someone I have a relationship or am working with seems to gradually cool to Christ and his brilliant Kingdom mission. He or she quietly slips away, yielding a part or all of their heart to lesser joys and pastimes.

Over the years, I've come to understand unless what people pursue is disturbingly sinful to those who love them (abuse of drugs or alcohol, risky sexual habits, destructive irresponsibility such as not being able to hold a job because of willful immaturity, etc.), their progressing blindness often appears benign on the surface: a promising new relationship takes center stage, the long-sought-after job or career path opens and consumes the best of who they are, or family becomes the main source of life and well-being, for instance. Nobody's going off the deep end; they're just wandering away slowly because they can't see the Kingdom as their most compelling way of life

The central issue for me gathers around what the heart prefers as it's deepest longing and loyalty, pleasure and joy, meaning and purpose. We have the freedom to give our hearts to what is good or what is evil. All of us do this all of the time to varying degrees depending on how much we've embraced with conviction God's summons to holiness:  " . . . you shall be holy because I am holy." (1Peter 1:16) . He holds out this summons 24/7 if you're a Christ-follower. We move toward and away from this summons, but by the amazing grace of God, through steps forward and steps back over years, our spiritual momentum is toward him and what he cares for.

Nonetheless, I've heard people who eventually lost sight of the way say the whole Christian thing was too hard; they just couldn't be good enough.

I've known others who when confronted with their love of certain sins, and the need to turn aside from them, decided the price was too great.

A few took care of the salvation deal (yes, I believe), then lived as they pleased, confident that the salvation endgame was won; no need to go overboard with the religious stuff.

A scarier group of folks knew that they were rejecting Christ and didn't care. In fact, they became convinced it was all a load of baloney. They took the high ground of enlightened understanding, little aware they had lost the means to see reality.

So painful to me was the reality these folks were being given the opportunity to be loved, healed, and freed, but they kept looking elsewhere. Their blindness was gradual but insidious. 

I know the Scripture warns frequently about the terrifying dangers of falling away. Such knowledge sobers me. But I have a sadness for those who could not grasp the exquisite beauty of God, and his grace-drenched Kingdom. How tragic is the reality that some who are summoned say "no thanks," I like this stuff better. What a loss of potential for the Kingdom mission they were invited to.

How is it LOVE can be shoved aside for love? I get it that we can choose soul poison or medicine, but the stakes are astonishing. This world's sparkling unto blindness kills; the Kingdom faded gray is the ultimate of lies.

I think we Christians do not do anywhere near enough to reveal the brilliant shine of the freeing Kingdom reign and rule of God through the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We settle for ho-hum in our church cultures;. the routine is safe and manageable. Who among expects miracles? We think the power of God is for maintaining the mundane, not rolling away the stones from tombs.

I have to say, I've had the most disappointing experience of watching young believer's being slowly spiritually blinded by a cultural Christendom so boring, superficial and insular that they became convinced it was a feckless sham. Conversely, this world lures them constantly with endless promises of excitement, intense feeling, a steady diet of pleasure, and the promise of a good life (on their terms) free from anything that fetters you doing what you want, when you want, and how you want. It's dreck with a hidden death sentence.

When we all decide to follow Jesus at all costs into this jangly, sparkly world to manifest the brilliantly shining beauty of simple grace and the resurrecting power of love, I know the color of true life will return and dazzle those still able to see it.

Prayer and the Welcoming Stillness of Place.

A few days ago I wrote fondly of the experience I had co-leading with Tricia a Listening in Christ Immersion Retreat at the CFR in Simsbury, CT. I noted it was a balm to my soul, and showed me how much I'm still suited for the "quiet journey" embedded in following Christ.

Because of a conversation I had yesterday, I realized I needed to say a bit about the reality of what years of prayer in a particular place seems to leave behind. I've noticed a curious numinal phenomena: places dedicated to prayer, set aside for the discipline of praying such as retreat centers, monastery's, prayer closets, worship sanctuaries, etc., manifest an environmental stillness palpable, as if in the air. If you take time to settle in such a space, the feel is unmistakably one of peace, an abiding quiet. an inviting sense of spiritual rest and welcome. The atmosphere is unhurried, with an order gentle and gracious -- a "light weightiness," if you will.

It seems to me hours and hours and hours of sojourning  with God in loving silence, listening, praying, worshiping in the heart, and reflecting on the ravishing beauty and goodness of God leaves a residue, or "fragrance" of the Spirit.and heaven's unity. It's feels to me akin to the Celtic notion of "thin places:"

"In the Celtic tradition such places that give us an opening into the magnificence and wonder of that Presence are called “Thin Places.” There is a Celtic saying that heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in the thin places that distance is even smaller. A thin place is where the veil that separates heaven and earth is lifted and one is able to receive a glimpse of the glory of God. A contemporary poet Sharlande Sledge gives this description:

“Thin places,” the Celts call this space,
Both seen and unseen,
Where the door between the world
And the next is cracked open for a moment
And the light is not all on the other side.
God shaped space. Holy."

                                                        Sylvia Maddox, "Where Can I Touch Heaven?"

However we try to characterize the experience, I know such experience is real, substantial; in these places the mysterium tremendum (the mystery wholly other) is also the mysterium inter nos (the mystery among us). I knew it in Simsbury, Nashville, Jemez, Boston, and Holyoke, in places set aside for prayer at one time, or on-going. Maybe I'm just sensitive to it, or I'm wired for such resonance.

All I know is such awareness elevates my spirit much in the same way helium in a balloon causes it to rise. I'm calmed and yet freed inside, at home, located and eager for the possibility of being near God with my guard down, receptive. Such places invite me to pray and listen. I don't see it as a battle or routine; it is an offering and a receiving. I sit with my Lord and he sits with me - friendship, but not among equals. His loving graciousness and peace open the way for such relating.

So, I'm curious what you think about this. Have you ever or do you experience what I do in such places? Do you think it's nonsense?

BTW: I hope you know I don't think prayer is dependent on a particular place for it to be real or efficacious. It's not and I don't. We are to pray everywhere, all the time . . . but I'm convinced there are these peculiar  "thin places" where prayer persisted, and the welcoming stillness abiding unlocks our hearts and opens our mouths to listen and pray.

Returning to the "Unforced Rhythms of Grace" in Simsbury.

Just this past weekend, Tricia and I had the privilege of leading someone on a Listening in Christ Immersion Retreat at the Center For Renewal Retreat House on the lovely, pastoral grounds of Covenant Presbyterian Church in Simsbury, CT. ( http://cpcbarn.org/wordpress/)

For me and our retreatant, it was a return: she to her second retreat, and I to my "old stomping grounds" where we'd led retreats for groups and individuals for 20 years before coming to Northampton. Tricia and I also lived at the Retreat House, raised our family there, and were members of the church. Tricia had been back a couple of times prior to lead Listening in Christ Retreats for Women. I'd not.

I have to say just being in that still space on those grounds set aside to gently help people seek God, pray, contemplate, refresh, heal, or renew spiritually was an unbinding and freeing experience for my soul. It was as if I found again something I'd lost or inadvertently let go of. In a weird way, I felt home again. I was found and embraced by the place. And not merely because it was our family home for 20 years, or that it looked just as it had when we left -- it didn't. The feeling was deeply existential. I was returning to an essential piece of me, of my spiritual life and sensibility. A large part of my being knows itself most freely and intimately in the contemplative setting where the "unforced rhythms of grace," (borrowing a phrase from Eugene Peterson's The Message) deny the world's frantic slavery to "hurry up" and "have it all."

I'm not made for "hurry up" and "have it all," . . . never have been. In fact, when I allow myself to open to its vain imaginings, I disappear spiritually. When I disappear spiritually, I'm irritable, impulsive and disoriented, as if my spiritual moorings have been tossed off, and I'm on a fast wave to nowhere.

I know full well God has made me to feel most at home in the calm and quiet spaces of life, especially when nature has center stage, reflecting God's beauty, creativity, majesty and grace. Growing up in the open spaces of New Mexico where the vistas are long and wide, and the pace used to be slow, I immersed in a southwestern groove. Droppin' by and settin' a spell with my musician friends was normal. It suited my temperament perfectly, still does.

While the property surrounding the CFR Retreat House is in the middle of suburbia, it had been a dairy farm until the mid-60's when became a church-hence the nickname "The BARN.". It is 40 acres with a full view of the traprock hills on the western horizon, open fields of high grass, lush surrounding woods, and a babbling brook traversing it's southern boundary. The pace is generally relaxed, retreat-like. This rhythm offers room to breathe, listen and reflect. And God gave the space for such purposes. His presence is felt there even by folks who don't know him.

The easy flow of the retreat, the natural beauty awash in "let there be life," and the palpable sense of peace gave me sharp contrast to the beaten up mental/spiritual state I'd been in the last 2-3 weeks. Tricia mentioned, more than once, I was not myself, and I wasn't. I felt anxious, really disoriented, and tentative about my life and work. My state of mind was disturbingly uncomfortable, but I also felt detached from the true me. There were reasons for feeling so, but I couldn't detach and get perspective. I was slowly sinking to the bottom.

Being at the CFR and hearing God gave me a view of where I'd drifted because the responsibilities I have. I realize I have adjustments to make with how I spend my days, and what I give my best to. I have to restore spiritual and missional balance to how I work or I'll disappear inside. So, I'll make more time for being alone -- and frequently -- with God. I'll make more time for reflection and prayer.I'll strive less and let God build the work as it pleases him. Others need to carry more of the load or we need to reduce it together.

The "unforced rhythms of grace" which uplift and sustain me will restore equilibrium for the mission I accepted 5 years ago. My eyes were opened by the Holy Spirit this weekend; time to let go and let God. I've seen it what he does with folks on our retreats. We just set the stage. He opens their ears and the eyes of their hearts. He can do it in Northampton on the streets as well. So I need to pray, listen, reflect and settle.

The urgency I feel must be balanced with persisting parentheses of sojourning with God all the time. Holding everything loosely. Noting when I'm being forced to respond or take initiative, but not from God. Keeping my mouth shut as much or more than speaking. Listening to actually hear. Taking notes. Asking questions more than declaring or expositing.

Stopping.

Resting.

Balancing.

Pacing.

Not having answers.

Letting others carry the load; not assuming I should.

Enjoying God and his Presence frequently.

Taking time to notice.


. . . I feel peace about this, even a smile.

My Sense of Urgency for the Mission I Embrace.

I am 63.

Five years ago when I began to detect a faint but persistent enticing to head in another ministry direction, there was no urgency. It was began as a intriguing feeling of "what if?" and interesting possibility - a window cracked open, and while I saw dimly, I also saw glimmers of a new leg of the journey for Tricia and me. An unfamiliar potential came knocking. God sent an invitation.

5 years later, a palpable sense of urgency abides, taking permanent residence in me. I will finish my race running as hard as my 63 year old legs will allow because God has graciously granted this task to me (and others at imagine). I know without a doubt the missional Kingdom way is my spiritual, ecclesiological imperative; the clock is ticking, and I still have far to go before I can set down my bag and rest.

Some of this urgency has to do with being 63. I am not old in heart, but I am aging; old is a learned attitude; aging is an inevitable reality for all living beings. I know I am young in spirit, heart, attitude, and will. It's a different variety of young than for a 33 year-old, for instance. It's largely attitudinal: possibility, potential, opportunity, hope, creativity and exploration still captivate my heart. Urgency keeps it all simmering.

Nevertheless, 63 has conditions through which my sense of urgency compels me: 

• I have urgency because I tire sooner and it lasts longer if I don't take time to rest well.
• I have urgency because I am more aware the clock is ticking than when I was a younger man.
• I have urgency because there is a real sense of the physical/mental diminishing that inexorably overtakes everyone through the aging process, even if I take good care of myself.
• I have urgency because I want to keep in step with the Spirit on my watch and miss nothing he has for me before my last breath - time's a-wastin'.
• I have urgency because people desperately need the freeing truth, hope, and love in this world awash in such creeping darkness and inhumanity.
• I have urgency because I am in the early evening of my life, but the sun will set sooner than I realize perhaps.
• I have urgency because I want to hear my LORD greet me upon seeing him with, "Well done, good and faithful servant." 

Therefore:

Urgency is good; complacency sucks and is cowardice married to sloth.

Urgency with wisdom, grace, and love creates the possibility of true life in others.
 
Urgency fuels resolve and determination.

Urgency makes imperative the everyone's need for salvation, healing and true liberty.

Urgency blends a holy discontent with a need to "do something about this mess."

Urgency lends the perspective that we all only have so much timer to bring the Kingdom on our watch.

Urgency makes 63 seem not a day too soon to make a difference.

URGENCY IS A GIFT!

Being the We Even When We're Apart, Part 1.

I have been experimenting lately with the notion that if the church is the existentially missional gathering, discipling, and sending of Jesus-followers into all the world, and if the biblical idea of Kingdom community/fellowship is communitas, then it carries with it an intense "we-ness" as I wrote in my April 3rd blog post: http://oldmenplantingchurches.blogspot.com/2012/04/being-we.html   This relational paradigm implies the unfamiliar idea that if we're embodying Kingdom communitas together, I am with you as you go about being missional in your spheres of Kingdom influence, and vice-versa. As I wrote: "I have your back and you have mine." We're doing this together, it's just that you're taking the lead in that part of our joint mission. We are sharing the work rather than you live your life with Jesus and I live mine -- alone together.

I've begun to broach this notion that Jesus has gathered us together around a particular Kingdom mission; we are members of the same cause and team. Each of us plays an integral role, and though we might be apart much of the time, we're actually contributing to what each of us is doing to further the Kingdom on our watch -- I'm with you and you're with me; it matters to us all what each is doing and we know about it. It takes a minute for folks to wrap their heads around the idea, because it is so unfamiliar, or seems to be a platitude with little reality

As I mentioned in the Being The We blog as well, most of us live our Christian lives as discreet individuals who go to church together, attend all sorts of Christian gatherings, and communal activities, including fellowship groups and short-term missions trips, but the idea that we've been called to intense and intimate Kingdom missional teamwork is sadly foreign. We don't know how to and are not even sure its possible or desirable.

Recently, I told a young Intervarsity Staff Worker who is also an imagineurian that what she does on campus in furthering the Kingdom of Christ is what imagine/Northampton is doing with and through her. She's got the lead there, but we're with her, and not just symbolically. We want to help her "pull out the stops" and realize all God wants to do on her watch. She's a part us and we're a part of her. She carries our united hearts, and we hers. It's the relational DNA of missional church.

She's one example of how imagine as a communitas of missional Christ-followers is called to own what each of us is doing on our jobs, in our neighborhoods, with our non-Christian friends and colleagues. Wherever one of us goes during the week, we are all there.

Life together in this way assumes a much more missionally intimate and dynamic way of relating than what passes for community in most churches. Our shared mission defines and deepens our relating. Togetherness is not just about friendships and mutual support, as fulfilling as that can be. The deepest spiritual meaning we can experience after grasping the Magnificent God of the entire Creation just happens to be deeply fond of you and me, is found in the wild notion he's gone and summoned each of us to further his Kingdom on our watch. I go. You go. We all go together even when apart.

So how about begin experimenting with this missional relating by asking folks you spend time with two questions:

1. How can I pray for the Kingdom mission God has given you?

2. What do you need from me today, this week, etc.?

Unless the folks you hang around are hip to what you're actually assuming  in these two questions, you may have to explain the concept of communitas to them. What a great opportunity either way!

May God ignite Kingdom communitas and mission through your questions and example.

In Part 2, I'll explain the spiritual and relational dynamic necessary for transforming normal Christian fellowship.

Celebrating Our First and Last Easter at 70 Main Street.

It was a crazy week leading up to yesterday.

We'd just finished our first off-site worship gathering since moving to our Main Street space. We've been feeling our first real growing pains and decided to get a mid-sized banquet space at the Hotel Northampton just up King Street from us. The Palm Sunday/Easter services tend to be when folks visit a new place, or go to church for their traditional Christmas and Easter ritual. We knew we'd be in trouble if we used the imagine space; it's not cool to turn away people.

So the Monday after Palm Sunday, Dave, Tricia and I (mostly Dave), began searching for another space.  We were given the impression we could also use the hotel facility for Easter, but that turned out to be untrue. Time was short, so we felt like we had to scramble amidst all the other ministry a week brings .We called about and visited a few spaces which had potential to work. All were no-goes. We tried until Friday. It appeared God wanted us to stay put.

Tuesday night, Jim, Tricia, and I settled on a structure of fitting readings and songs, plus a short reflection in the middle.We wanted different and fresh.

During the week, the imagineWORSHIP Team rehearsed twice and had 6 songs ready for Easter. We spent some time with jazz diva Diane Reeves' amazing renditions of Morning Has Broken to use as an opening song. Eslie ended up singing it acappella, and did a great job. It set a spiritual tone. Michelle brought in and sang a strong lead on Robert Lowrey's 1876 Nothing But the Blood of Jesus hymn. We turned it into an uptempo Bo Diddley kind of groove with djembe, guitar and bass. We also did Michael Kelly Blanchard's BeYe Glad with just voice and snare drum. We finished with Alive, What the Lord Has Done For Me, and Revelation Song. People sang!! Some smiled.

During the week, Karin went to work and found material to read from Madeline L'Engle's "The Ram: Caught in the Bush," Luci Shaw's "To Know Him Risen," and C.S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia where Aslan has risen and is playing joyously with the kids, but also summoning them to the Kingdom  work ahead. Tricia composed and read a reflection on the idea of Jesus as the Gardener of our souls. Karin also read from John 20. There was food for the heart and mind in what was read and reflected. Karin and Tricia in their own styles drew us in to listen and contemplate.

And there was great food for the stomach...always an inviting feature at imagineWorship.

On Saturday, Tricia and Kait set to adorning our space with festoons of brightly-colored, gauzy material with streamers attached. On Sunday, Tricia launched multicolored, helium-filled balloons (with Scriptures attached to the strings), to hug and bobble the ceiling. The mood created was festive and playful - just what we wanted.

So yesterday, as we'd hoped, we had a number of guests, and the place filled to capacity. Our little room for worship was packed like sardines, right up to the band. The energy was bright and right for celebrating. We had some lovely surprises, including 4 imagineurians, who for various reasons had been away, but were able to be with us - for two, it was like a renewal. Folks invited friends there for their first time, and they all appeared to enter into worship with us. What a pleasure to see it. Another pleasure was finding that someone was there who, as an act of beginning to heal, came to our Easter.

As some of you know, we don't see Sunday morning church as the zenith of our missional task. The day has an important role to play in gathering us all together to celebrate God, to hear from him in the Scriptures, and to sing to him in solidarity with all the gathered around the world. This, our first Easter Worship was alive, and life-giving; simple, but real. We worshipped.

I don't suspect we'll be worshiping at the Main Street space for much longer. But I know Resurrection life is practiced here. Yesterday confirmed it.

Being The We.

I had a conversation recently with an imagineurian and good friend, Jon G.Hill. We were talking about teamwork and group process. My friend has a singular and refreshing wit (it comes from his intelligence). As we were ending our conversation, he said something like "It's be the we, man." His bon mot was dead-on.

Here's why.

In my previous post I wrote a bit about the essentiality of communitas for getting at the heart of what it means to share the Kingdom mission of living the Gospel for people who can't or won't see Jesus. I quoted Michael Frost in Exiles: "It involves movement and it describes the experience of togetherness that only really happens among a group of people actually engaging in a mission outside itself."

To "be the we" reflects a communal depth and vitality flowing from an unabashedly shared sense of "we're up to our necks in this together," and "I got your back, period." I find as Americans we're often so unreflectively immersed in the ethos of individual freedoms, pursuits and identity that even our church life can appear as an exercise in being alone together. We're born and bred individual consumers and volunteers. We share worship services, bible studies, mission's trips, outreach events, volunteer projects, small groups, etc. We do share some substantial life together as friends; we serve, give and sometimes go spiritually deep, especially women. But when you and I say, _______________ (insert the name of your church) is my church, do we mean "it's where I go and feel most comfortable," or do we mean: "God called me to share with these folks His Kingdom mission adventure of a lifetime. I would die for my compadres, and they for me. What I have is theirs and vice versa. We've walked through the valleys of fire together. Nothing could separate me from them, nor them from me.

I know for a fact from conversations I've had with people, especially those in their 20's, that the longing for such a community resonates largely unmet. They want to live for something magnificent than themselves . . . with others; something heroic and noble; something hard to do, but so worth it. Sadly,  they've not  really seen "be the we" lived out in their church experience. The closest some of them get is in college as part of Christian Fellowship or parachurch ministry.  Once away from those spiritual environs, they feel a sadness and frustration about not finding missional community lived out in the local church, even a little cynicism. We in the church can talk a good game and still live a shamefully tepid discipleship - being spectators and religious consumers. Comfort zones thrive in American Christianity.

Being alone or in affinity cliques together, misses the point of the Church in the world. Jesus has unequivocally summoned us to accomplish something courageous in our neck of the woods. That's why we're here together. "Being the we" is each one of us following hard after Jesus, but together; not alone. All of us covered, supported, encouraged, given rest, then gently lifted back to our feet when we need it, and loved as we work to change the world toward the Kingdom reign of God. No one is left behind. No one is kept silent. We don't shoot our wounded, shun our "difficult" ones, or send the sinner packing. The broken are welcomed, embraced,  healed, trained, strengthened, and invited into the fray beside all of us when they have their sea legs. We all share inestimable worth, and a wondrous destiny.

I've observed being the we missionally takes one person saying: "Is this all there is . . . really?" He or she starts asking, "What if we could...?" or "How come we can't...?" questions, and keeps asking until someone responds, "Well, why not? I'll go with you." You start to pray together, asking the Lord for the mission.You persist. Then, you go and experiment following his leading; all the while talking to others about what you're seeing Jesus do in your life, and the lives you're beginning to rub up against. It can be infectious when you all reach the missional tipping point in the community where the Holy Spirit is changing hearts and freeing the captives because you love, and serve, and have learned how to tell your personal redemption story. If you keep it up, there will be all manner of challenges and struggles, but somewhere along the way, "being the we" became your way of life, and turning back turns unthinkable.

"Be the we" where you are. Try it. Others are waiting for you to begin.